Lover's Fool
by Formerly-ForlornShadowlily009
Summary: I knew what it felt like in my hand,the cold steel with its raw edges cutting into my skin.The sensation it caused on impact,almost comforting in ways.In the end i wasn't giving up, no i was just giving in. Shuichi death fic. R
1. Chapter 1

Lover's Fool

Chapter 1. Do You Like It; Emotionlessly Gone

Disclaimer, I own this story but not Gravitation.

Warning: death fic, cutting (future), angst, adult themes

OKAY! THIS IS FORLORNSHADOWLILY009 and this is my story lovers fool! I posted it once before but someone reported me for a Naruto fic and my acount got deleted! So if you have read this story or are new to it please read or review again. Thank you so much! This is a pain, I worked so hard on my fanfics and I'm very upset that I have to repost them. I will be reposting every single one of my stories so please be patient if you are one of my readers. Thank you very much. Please review!

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"Do you like it," I ask out loud, my voice hoarse as I bit down on my lips, making them bleed.

"Do you like seeing what you did? Your master piece. Seeing what you have finally reduced me to? Watching me wither in pain under your once captivating eyes, as you walk away with satisfaction of the greatest desire plastered upon your perfect features, while I remain here on the floor frozen."

Tears fall down my already red face, marking it. Making me believe that it is now stained with that misleading color permanently. Even more I now question why the tears continue to fall, considering all the hours that have passed for me to produce them. To produced them for you. Even though I know you wouldn't bat an eye. My crying after all is just another bane to your existence. So what would you say if you saw me now, battered and broken? Laying on the kitchen floor curled up as if trying to disappear from this world.

Would you even care? Would you spare me a glance, a breath, a remark, or even a touch of your cold cool hands? Or would you call me a brat, a child, an idiot. Like you did so many times before, say I was a burden, and my presence was disturbing your precious peace that you so craved. Would you turn away?

You would, because old habits die hard. You have turned away, too many times too count. And each one has cut into me like a knife eager for craving its next victim. You drove me through the fire with your stylish touch and left me there to burn. I took a sip from your devil's cup and this is the cost for my escapade of passion.

And so as I lay here, my limbs lifeless, and my eyes once filled with lacking life and absent of consuming passionate fire now they stare cold and dead into the nothingness of my apartment. I try to recall it all. Recall just how this all happened and how it all went down the drain. How this ended up being my hell.

We were happy, or so I thought. How foolish of me to believe that childish delusion. I do remember a time when you smiled, but it was only to laugh at my own stupidity. Would you be laughing now? I also remembered when I was happy, that seemed like a millennium ago. A time when I would bounce into the room with glee and grab you, smothering you with my arms and kisses.

Then that scowl would appear on those gorgeous features that I once admired so. I knew very well that even through all the cold words and the constant lack of affection that you seemed to usher upon me. That through the glares and the belittling name calling that you loved it, loved me. I made you whole, made you feel alive, and kept you swaying from the bleak edges of your past.

And yet like a moth drawn to a flame, knowing very well it's going to get burned, I gave you my heart, my soul, and ushered from my lips were the endless words of unrequited love and not once did you return it. So in the end, I guess I was wrong. Another blunder to add on my list of failures that seems ready to suffocate me. I was wrong, perhaps you felt nothing for me and I was nothing more than a good screw.

Hn, that was after all what you told me that day. The day you told me to leave, it wasn't the first but it was the last. You said you had had enough; enough of my genki behavior, enough of having a child as a lover. Of someone that wasn't even an adequate fuck.

So why put up with it all? You said get out, your eyes boring into mine, sending shiver done my spine as I stood there crying, begging, eventually yelling back that you were a cold hearted bastard that would never feel anything except hate. Yet I guess you expected it all, we had done it so many times before it just seemed like a routine.

Except I was the one always coming back for more, more of your abuse then apologizing for my actions. A masochist to the end. You knew it and when I came in from work my things were all packed. You picked them and me up, and like that threw us to the curb. With are parting words heavy in the air you said, "Life has no meaning Shuichi. No fairy tale joy. Love is an emotion played by fools. I wish I had never meant you."

With that you turned away just like the first time we met, leaving me again standing there in the cold night air pondering on just what had taken place. Reality sunk in painfully and all too soon, as I stood there shivering. I remained out there for hours, not knowing how long, not caring. Just hoping you rush down those steps and take me in yours arms, stroke my hair, and say it was a mistake and a smile suited me best. But again I was deceived by my own stupidity; I went to Hiro's seeking support and only getting criticisms in return. My heart died that night.

I cried like I never cried before. For days I struggled to remain sane but it became all too much. So what did I do, I ran back to you like a good little dog. Hoping to beg for forgiveness, but again you turned me away like a diseased object refusing to touch. Shutting the door in my face and shouting threats to never come back. So this is what I am, your broken remains.

Another used toy of the great Yuki Eiri. However in my own right the blame must be cast on to me as well, it's not as if they did not warn me of you. Calling me a fool to trust you, a baka to even try, that I didn't know enough about you. Yet they never asked if you knew anything about me. However I didn't care for the insults or warnings, this fool was in love. But don't feel sorry for me, I'll make it all better soon.

TBC…

Please Review!


	2. Chapter 2

Lover's Fool

Chapter 2. No Meaning

Disclaimer; I do not own gravitation, but this story belongs to me. Here that! Though, maybe I could trade my brother for one of the characters. Anyone would do!

Warnings: death fic, cutting, Shuichi angst.

please review when finished. if i get five reviews i'll post the third chapter. thank you very much!.

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As I think now, something that the people who knew me best would point and laugh at. The very thought of me, a baka who is barely able to walk down the street without an accident, let alone be able to process a simple coherent thought. Still, I wonder, why we are here, placed on this mundane plane of existence? Does this abysmal life that we all seem to strive to live hold any real value or sense of purpose?

Or are we here simply as a cruel farce for the greater gods that rest above to watch and ridicule. To watch ours victories that we strive so hard for in a feeble attempt for greatness and belonging, then watch in amusement as we crash and burn as we fall like I have done now.

I suppose when I think about it now, that it is a universal question. Something asked and pondered upon from the start of time and probably will be till the end. Knowing very well the consequences and events that will ensure once humanity faces its apocalyptic demise.

Hn, hai this truly is a cause to laugh about, that I would think such thoughts as these. These things, that are obliviously and truly beyond my level of learning. Me who has been called stupid, the village idiot, and child that should run to his mother. Me, a person that never takes time in planning ahead or advising his actions before doing them. Speaking whatever pops into my head at any given time or place, running around all over, and not caring about the responsibilities that I hold. Yes laughable that now I'm actually thinking, and now find myself seated in front of a near empty bottle of alcohol. Not knowing how long I've been in front of it or how that bottle seemed to go so fast.

Somehow, and it is beyond me how, another question manages to enter its way through my mind. As I, a masochist to the end, this time settling for alcohol as my new lover, grab the bottle, and poured myself another glass. It's warm, but I don't care, that just means it will infiltrate my frail, bodily system and help condemn me from the world that much quicker.

It had a bitter taste, and I could feel it burning all the way down my throat and settling in the pool of my stomach as I lifted the glass to my lips. The stuff, I had long forgotten the name, was already taking affect as I grabbed another shot and again gulped it down. The feeling of fabricated calmness and nothingness began to take me over. Though it wasn't enough, I needed more, and my hand lazily went for yet again another shot. I had lost count how many I had had. By now it seemed so routine, what was the point in questioning. It did however make me think of how my routine had changed over the past few months.

The first couple of days after Yuki had thrown me out with the trash, I had tried to get back on track with my life, to pretend I was okay, and the pain that my vindictive lover had inflicted upon me wasn't slowly killing me from the inside out. However, we all know how that went don't we?

I cried till K, with his maniac personality, nearly succeeded with his death threats upon each and every one of us and pulled the trigger. I moped around all day like I possessed no life in my body and that I was nothing more than one of the bums that lived under the bridge. This caused Fujisaki to threaten once again to quit and take his musical talents else where. I succeeded in making Sakano so stressed and stir-crazy that he spun around like a mini tornado and jumped out the window. This time on the second floor, but the most depressing was Hiro.

At first he played the best friend act, being tolerant to my violent mood swings, letting me cry on his shoulder, whisper comforting words to me. He took me out every night to bars and our favorite cabarets in hopes of retrieving me from my shell. He even tried to get me to go on dates. But I didn't what it, I just couldn't do. After awhile he stopped, he turned spiteful, and cold. He took note of every little thing I did. My lack of movement or action, my whimpers, and my tears that seemed to always and never stop. The very fact that I constantly kept faith in Yuki. Hiro in turn became judgmental and mocked me every time he saw my actions, and then one day just like Yuki did three weeks before, he threw me out of his apartment as well.

But you can't really blame him; he has his own life to lead and doesn't need to be distracted with someone else's. I do believe recalling that he was having troubles with his relationship with Ayaka or something. I didn't care though, Hiro didn't know it but he and Yuki had taught me something. I was slowly changing, I was becoming cold, and uncaring just like they had been to me.

I realized that things in life weren't always rainbows and butterflies, that it wasn't always black and white. That the line of grey is a lot more messier and darker than you think. I learned this the hard way. I had had my wake up call. I was no longer the caring loving type. I stumbled through my days just as I do now, reckless, and detached. Going home exhausted from places that became a blur to me when I tried to extract them from my memory, and heading in to work at any given time I chose fit to meet my waking hours.

My band mates and bosses took note of this and sensed that they may have made a mistake by yelling, but they didn't try to correct it. Instead they choose to further hassle and criticize me. At nights I went to dance clubs and bars, those that Hiro had never taken me to and probably never would considering their reputation for "entertainment." Drowning myself in alcohol of various assortments and one-stands is how I would unwind.

The music would blare, droning into me, and mixed with that sinful drink I would lose it all. I'd give in to my vertigo. I didn't care about anything or feel for that matter. It all seemed so surreal in my mind, a bliss that I knew was never truly there. I wouldn't notice a thing while under its spell, like the women that would crawl around me like snakes and latch onto me. Depending on the place some would be looking for work, others simply a "good time."

I'd wake up in strange places, sometimes alone some times not. It was after one of my nightly rendezvous that I "found" the dilapidated, rat hole that I now occupy. I truly wouldn't call it an apartment, considering it was a three story house that someone had abandoned twenty years ago. It wasn't hard to guess why. No lock was on the door from when the cops had broken it down, that or it had rusted away. The stairs were about ready to collapse and when it rained it poured. Leaking through every crack, flowing down the walls, and the power had to be turned off. To turn on one thing in this house meant the light went out in another room. The person lived there, if that was even possible, was a real live-in or maybe agoraphobic that decided to save everything sense he couldn't leave.

There were piles of old newspapers from 1975, porno's, mad TV articles, magazines from thirty years ago, and other collected junk that had accumulated over time and was scattered throughout the house and packed to the ceiling high. I found an old bike in mess and spent my time riding it around the second floor. I don't know why I decided to call it my apartment. I guess in the end I did to make it sound nicer. To give it the illusion that it was something that it wasn't. That it wasn't just an empty broken shell of what it used to be. That by giving it a name apartment it didn't appear lonely.

But the house in some small way appealed to me, it was like a mirror image of how I now was. Alone and deserted. Ready to fall with the slightest push. It was perfect. I never brought anyone by or told them where I lived, still don't. If they found out they'd probably take me away. I thought of telling Hiro, then I remembered what terms we were on. He would probably only criticize me more for my sudden change in life style. Pity though, we could have had fun. Rummaging through the junk, riding on the bike till one of us fell. We had talked about living like morons who didn't do anything when we were younger, know I was.

I still went into work and produced those scribbles I call my lyrics. They were no longer cherry and big on the possession of love and devotion. Instead they turned to ones of hate and death, darkness and fury, sorrow and despair. I think my fans took to the change rather well, calling me a rebel and revolutionary of our time.

I still made my appearances on stage, putting on a false smile for them all to see. The leeches, but you got to give the crowd what they want. It sickens me what I do just to sell a few records. My clothing's changed to satisfy my mood. I now chose to wear more skimpier apparel but less color. Switching to black and blood reds, leather is now my fetish. Appeasing to my eyes and body; but this job isn't satisfying anymore. So I picked up a night one as a waiter/performer at a cabaret.

I know they noticed it all and their shouting and rude side remarks don't change a thing. I have become cold to them like they have to me. I cry less now as each day passes, if they even do. I have seemed to lost count, time seems almost to stands still. I'm frozen. As for the pain that my lover caused me, I can't say it's gone but I found other ways to suppress it.

I have found that this little interlude has made my throat dry even though I hadn't been talking. I reach for my bottle again and suddenly find that somehow while I was lost in my own delusion induced state, I had emptied it. My eyes stare at the label, memorizing every detail as I hold it in my hands. The way the empty glass container looks so hollow. My throat is feeling so dry I can hardly stand it. It's getting hard to breath. I don't want to feel like that bottle. An empty shell, hollow, ….unfulfilled.

Anger I had let build up deep down inside over the past four months slowly started to rise from within. I can feel it, eating at me, growing like an unwanted parasite; burning its way through my essences' and core. It's all too much and I snap throwing that shell against the wall; watching it brake into jagged pieces. I love the sound that it produces and I jump up, making the room spin all around me. It's all too much I scream in my head. The feelings I tried so hard to suppress are threatening to break free and engulf me in a tidal wave of fury and agony.

I need release.

That thought is constant and I grasp on to it like a life line as I stumble out the room. The floor creaks under my weight as I slander into the "bathroom".

My hand clumsily fumbles with the light, I can hear the long drone of the electric circuits working as they connect and turn on, and the light flickers slightly. I grab the edges of the chipped, porcelain sink and lift my face up to stare into the cracked mirror. I can hardly recognize the person that stares back. The face in that mirror is not mine. "What have I become," I whisper on death ears. But I don't want to listen. Always confusing these thoughts are in my head. I shake it trying to wake myself from this nightmare, but knowing I never will.

Though, there is one way for me to find my place. My hands drop down to below, shaking slightly as I rummage through the cabinet like mad till I felt it and my body freezes. I grasped at it, knowing very well what would happen, but… I held it tightly in my fist anyway. I knew what it felt like in my hand, the cold steel with its raw edges cutting into my skin. The sensation it caused on impact. Almost comforting in ways. Just like _he_ used be. But I won't about him right now, my mind won't allow that.

I clutch my fist tighter and wince as my metal means of release further pierces my delicate skin. I can feel it all and that there is something I crave and hate. The fact that I can feel every ounce of pain at the first snag, like a trigger it makes me whole. Being able to feel, which something I want, but at the same time I don't want to be washed away and smothered in it's grasp of unfeeling. My release allows my escape from the world and its problems. It's a perfect sense of nothingness that's just like a pill.

My palm is starting to throb as it starts to turn red with my blood. It dips out through the cracks of my fingers, running down my wrist and onto the floor. But I don't care. I can feel it all but yet the same time I can't.

I love it.

I open my hand and stare and the site. Smiling, I carefully extract the razor from its nest. The wound continues to bleed, flowing slightly. "Strange," I murmur in fascination, but I don't process anything else as that blood soaked hand again grips that stained piece of metal. My fingers hold it perfectly despite the cuts inflicted upon them.

It's the same as always, but not its different than other people who choose to cut themselves. Those people are all the same, simple in there styles of cutting. Going for lines on their wrists and legs. Maybe small at first then larger and deeper as the cutting progresses. Making them in fine straight lines, row after row, column after column. Eventually they give in to their addiction and go for the main vein. Charleston's really.

I however chose to be more articulent about my mutilations. My arm is out and uncovered as I press the oblique edge to the tan skin. It is surprisingly easy how it tares as I make that perfect slanted line. I don't hesitate in doing it deep either. I know my limits and tonight I'm willing to push them to their very extent.

It hurts at first, stinging slightly, unbearable. But with the pain comes the pleasure and the feeling of belonging. The knowing sense of belonging that I belong no where. Blood seeps from the open capillaries forming ribbons of crimson. I lift up the blade and reset it, ready to strike. My faded scars barely show on my ebony complexion thus leaving its own reminder in my mind to retrace their path when I'm done.

Unlike the other people I take care of my cuts, putting triple antibiotic cream on to keep them from leaving a permanent mark on me. Some scars or traces are abound to show but I can't allow the public to witness them, not yet anyway. When I first started my experiments in this, I didn't have the common knowledge not to press down so hard and so I nearly passed out from the blood loss.

Luckily I did have the enough sense to go the hospital. Wrapping my hair in a rag and giving them an alias for my name. We can't have people knowing what the great Shuichi Shindou is up to can we. People at the hospital didn't ask much, they don't when you give them enough money or an offer for a quick round in the broom closet.

I lift the razor up again and cut myself, moving further up my arm. The coppery life substance that I so depend on for survival is now flowing freely onto the floor. It will probably stain what is left of the tile but again it doesn't concern me. I finish the letter and get ready to start on another, but it's all getting too much. The room is starting to spin as I press down deeper, harder than I should. But I have to finish.

My hand and shirt is soaked with blood as I start to sway, the light that keeps on flickering is only getting blurrier. I can feel it all give way as my knees buckle and I fall to the floor, sliding in the pool that surrounds me. Still I cut till the razor drops from my fingers and hits the floor, its echo ringing in my ears. I clutched at my arm and the indentions upon it. NO MEANING these are the words of my flesh. Starting at my wrist and working down to the elbow. They mean nothing and at the same time everything. This is my lesson that I have now learned. That there is no such thing as fairy tale joy, love is an emotion played by fools. Life has no meaning.

My arm won't stop bleeding and I realize that I have pushed my limits…maybe too far we will just have to see. But before the darkness takes me I think, I'm not giving up. No I'm just giving in. Hn...Yuki…

TBC…

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loved it or hated it? let me know what you thought. if you liked this story please try my others which i will be reposting one chapter at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

Lover's Fool

Chapter 3. Waking up from Oblivion

Disclaimer I do not own Gravitation but this stories plot belongs to me so sue if you all that you're going to get is a piece of mold and some lent.

Warnings: Death fic, Suicide, and all around Shuichi angst.

Geez, when I started this fic I had no idea it be this popular or that I get reviews with such feelings, thank you everybody. I have decided to write a sequel to this fic. Though I don't know what I'm gong to call yet. But I would like to thank

Black Angel of Destruction I will write the sequel don't fear.

Kolie I wrote this flick because I could relate to it some levels and I'm happy as well as sad that I have so many readers that can as well, Please don't cry. And thank for reviewing I'm glad you enjoyed this story

Tangerine-asuka thank you very much and I'm glad that you want to see the sequel

Beatngufan for the review, please don't cry. I love angst as well.

Lara for her review, here is the next chapter sorry about the wait I hope it is filled with angst fun for you.

Sansty-san who has reviewed twice, thank you, thank you, thank you,

And Eitriarch who has reviewed three times. Thank you for that and yes in some ways I can relate to this story and Shu. I also believe that the only way a writer can truly express themselves is by experiencing something like it.

So any way I just wanted to thank you all very much and hope you enjoy chapter 3. I'm so glad that you took the time to read and thank you all again!

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I can hear it, that dripping. It's soft at first, whispering in my ears. Echoing in the distant, but coming ever closer like a ticking clock. It's louder now as it continues a constant rhythm, boring into the base of my skull. Brushing over me with the finest of touches. My head hurts.

That's all that my mind can register as I lay paralyzed. That and as too where I'm lying, I have no clue and no desire to process it further. My body aches, and my skin is cold. As if winter had caress me with its hands, breathing its icy breath upon me. Chilling me to the bone and making me shiver in discontent.

There it is again, that dripping sound. I know that it is there, it mixes with everything else causing me to shudder internally inside. I feel hollow and the same feelings of being broken dawn in my mind, waiting for it to reawaken and process them further. But I don't want to, all of this pointless thinking is too much. I can't move my body, I know that. My limbs, if I still possess them, are compatible to lead. They're on fire, scorching me straight to the bone.

I feel like I will be either consumed in ice of winter or by the embers and left to burn. But it's all for the better, I don't think I want to move even if I could. My throat feels like it has completely closed off, it's dry. Like I have just eaten the entire contents of a desert's floor. I feel dirty, filthy, and even more unfit for the world, but I don't know if this feeling is just physically or mentally.

I think and all it is too…it hurts…I want to stop. I want to open my eyes but I can't. Where am I? That dripping is becoming incisive now. Its booms in my ears, I can't stand it, my head is pounding. I know I have to get up, something keeps telling this. This very fact is constant in my mind. A reminded for me to do something, I have to open them. But I don't want to, I want to stay lost. I want to stay forgotten in this false darkness that my mind grants me. Even though it is also granting me pain beyond pain as well. But I have to open my eyes, that voice won't stop.

They are crusted to face; my long, black, lashes heavy with sleep dust. They stick to my skin as I will my amethyst iris open. It is hard and it causes me pain as they pull apart. But I force them open and immediately regret the action as I snap them shut again. Light somehow managed to fill that dank room that I am in while I was incapacitated, and blared in with full force the moment I lifted my lids to greet the sun.

I squinted, not doing much else and lifted my head. Feeling a sudden and not to kind wave of nausea and dizziness strike me at the small movement, as I decided to try this again. I slowly opened them, letting the light bombard my pupils, as I waited for them to adjust. Finding that this, would not come soon.

I couldn't see anything, everything in my vision vicinage of sight, was nothing more than a blur of fuzz. The images that my eyes saw were discolored and two dimensional, as I raised my head and instantly regretted that too. I was on my side; I found that part of my body had ceased its functions as I tried to move. The pain that that action caused me was nothing short but escheating. Every nerve on fire, simple jolts sending shocks down spine and to my numb system.

My head swam and I found that I was in desperate need of water. I felt the sickening need to throw up, and the questionable feeling that somehow I was alive but slowly dying. That this, was somehow a delusion of my mind and I was, perhaps, passed out on my couched sleeping off a hangover or was anywhere but here. But I knew that this wasn't true, that _this_ was the truth because…apart of me wanted it to be.

I pushed my right palm up, my nails that I let grow out scraping against the tile as I slide by body on floor. The blood was dried all around me and suddenly memories came rushing back to me. Hitting me at full, like a ton of bricks. Making my head feel like it would truly split in two from the pressure and crack. And yet through all of this, I loved it. It reminded me of the night before, even though this pain did not bring the nothingness that I craved. It did inflict a sense of release.

I let out another groan as I moved my left arm the wrong way. It dragged at my side, limply tucked in. The blood had dried over the fleshly inflected wounds as well. Leaving thin scabs that I would probably pick at till they bleed and crimson once again flowed down my arms. My clothes, I noticed as I inched my head, were a mess. Soaked and flecked with grim, the smell that they emitted filled me. Making me once again threaten to lose whatever was in my stomach, but knowing very well it would just be alcohol. I did however, wonder what I would look if I choose to glance into a mirror. But, it would probably the same as it was every other night. Just a reflected image of a person that was tired and defeated, this time just more abused.

I knew now, that I had pushed my limits almost past their breaking points last night. I had danced with the devil, so to speak for one brief moment. I had floated on the eve of death and that void of the greater beyond. For one spit second I was truly free, there was no falseness or make believe, just peace. I had tasted it, and I knew that I couldn't go back to want I had before. It was like a siren, calling out to me in the night to damn me into oblivion. A deity of the eternal peace and retrenched silence. But now the question was, could I pursue it?

All of this thinking is killing me, like a dull fire blazing softly inside my head. But I still continue doing it, as I put one arm in front of me and propel myself forward. I truly am the idiot. I knew what this was doing to me but yet I still do it. It is that constant will to disobey everyone that keeps me going. Hai, I truly am a child. But a child wouldn't be laying here on the floor; a child would instead be comforted by the ones that loved and cared for him. So if I truly am a child, why aren't I sheltered from the world's harsh realties?

My legs have seemed to have lost all feeling in them, just like the rest of my body. My vision steadies itself but does not improve, sending shooting pain coursing through my temple. This however doesn't improve the outline of shapes that loom in front of me. Though I can deal with this pain, too many mornings with hangovers and headaches have forced to make a resistance to them. I drag my self forward in inches, only to succeed in sending more trembles of agony through me. This pain I can't stand, but then again I can. It is not that much different from anything else but still it cuts me, and still I bask in it.

"You fucked up again Shuichi," I croaked out through cracked lips as I continued my crawl. Somehow those words didn't seem like mine, and disfigured images of Hiro and the others flashed through me. It would make more sense that they would say that than me, perhaps they were here right now watching my struggle. Laughing at my pathetic ness and over stupidity that I press down to hard. "Hn,"

I made it out of the "bathroom" and into the hallway, shrieking slightly as I bumped into the table. Causing sake bottles to fall on top of me and brake. I wait till it all settles and once again began my track, cursing under my breath as I put force into my pushes. My need for liquid becoming stronger. I knew that If didn't drink something soon I was sure to pass out again but this time I would at least like to rise my mouth out and give in to my body's needs.

I'm almost there I think as I spy the kitchen's entrance. Sweat runs down my forward clumping my bangs together, making them stick to my brow. I can make out the kitchens structure, it's broken and mismatched chairs, that tin can I call a refrigerator, "th----AHHGGG!"

I let a scream scraping my throat raw as I tumble, flipping over and landing onto my back. Lying spread out eagle style. My mouth, despite the way my body shook, turned up in a snaky pout as I laid there. My breathing laggard and forced. I had forgotten the raised step that leads into the kitchen's entrance. "

I-I…shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be moving. I shouldn't be living here in this hell while….while… "I NEED WATER!" I screamed suddenly and push myself up. Letting out a shriek at the pain that shot through my arm, but I wasn't going to stop. I had enough of this and just like the night before, I had pushed my limits to the max and soon was going to break from the strain.

I stood shakingly, ready to collapse with the gentlest of pushes. My vision, failing me. Dizziness engulfing me as my altitude changed as I stood to my full height. I stumbled forward, knocking the chairs over in my wake as I reached out greedily and grasped the door to the ice box in desperation. Pulling it open with everything I had. I could feel my legs giving way beneath me, as I blindly reach into that barren container. Grasping the jug and pulling the top off I bring it roughly to my parched lips.

The instant that cold substance hit, my body consumed it like a sponge. Soaking up every drop. My knees finally give out and I push the jug further up. Bringer my head back as water flows down my neck and I almost choke in attempt to drink it all. It hits my stomach and the lack of blood, fluids, and nutrients forces me almost to throw up but still I drink. My fingers clutching at the plastic till my strength gives out and I fall. Letting the bottle go, it splashes and rolls besides me as I lay coughing on the floor. Till I tilt my head and at last finally hack up my stomachs contents.

I roll on my back, one arm on my stomach my legs crossed over each. My eyes are glazed over and frosted "but it wouldn't matter I can't see" I think. Before darkness once again claims me.

Hn, this truly is pointless, a waste of time to try and save myself but I have nothing better to do. I don't remember much after I passed out the second time. The fiery fever that possessed me and burned kept my mind locked in a state of delusional, fantasy bordering on the thin line of reality. It let me taste enough of it just enough to keep me sane but enough to drive crazy as I lay immobilized. If that was what you would call it.

I remember waking up in same position and throwing up again. Twitching, every few seconds before I gathered up enough strength to crawl to the refrigerator and gulped down more water. I knew that I had to keeping drink to get my body stabilized. My vision was still impaired but I figure I have to wait awhile for it to go back to normal. I decided, probably against my better judgment, not to go to the hospital.

All they would have done was asked pointless questions and probably call someone that I knew. Despite the offers of sex and money the deprived doctors would question my sanity and why someone would choose to crave the words NO MEANING into my skin. And that was not something I could handle right now. Did not real like being treated like a lab rat to be poked and stared at. Even though the hospital meant all the lovely drugs, I do doubt morphine high is going to help my current state.

I did manage to find out that I had been unconscious for most of the day and now late into the night. I had managed to drag myself to the couch, snagging a bottle of aspirin on the way. My legs have regained some feeling but I can't shake the feeling of being a dumbbell. My pain has subsided do four or five aspirin. So now I have to worry about an overdose of that too.

I knew K and the others were probably all angry at me, furious would be the correct term. I had failed to show up today and I probably will fail the rest of the week. Even with my new risqué life-style I still went everyday to work. Why? I have no clue? That question managed to elude me. We had a big concert coming and we ,well they, were all working hard. All I had to was write the songs and show up. Hn, they would not be happy about this.

I can see them now, their angry faces, looking down at me. But I could go in and then pass out in front of everyone. That would be great. You know, they probably all got there early and waited the entire day for me to show. It doesn't matter; all I have to worry about is one of them actually tracking me down. Which I suppose might lead to some entertainment.

I suppose that it was better that I didn't show up. For the next two day I hardly left the couch. It was my prison as well as my sanctuary. When I did leave it, it was only to get more water and medicine. Aspirin, cough syrup, flu spray, you name. Whatever it was I took it, I didn't even know I even had it in the house.

My body was slowly recovering and now I could move as far the second floor before feeling like I was going to pass out returned to haunt me. I patched up my arm, making sure it wouldn't get infected. I didn't want any more problems. The scabs I picked till they wore away. Taking pleasure in the sensation it caused. It words I had craved stood out upon my skin like a beckon in the night, shining brightly in darkness. I couldn't help but stare and trace my fingers along them, the growing itch forming again as I did this little act. But I pushed the urge away and hide my "art" from the world.

Another day passed and felt myself returning to what I was before. If you could classify me as any that is. I barely dragged myself off the couch to greet the day, knowing that everyone was royally pissed by now. I spent the rest of it restless and uncaring. Just lost in my weaken state. When I did decide to get, I decided to face the music and check my messages. It had been three after all, my lack of absence could be called selfish and irresponsible on my part. At least to their eyes.

My answering machine is a broken down and ducked tape piece of junk that made me wondered way I even owned it, let alone worked. There was only one message on it, as stood before it and I knew what to except. I paused when I heard K yelling, I could barely make out Sakano trying to keep him from shooting the phone. I heard a couple of gun shots and clashes and then Hiro's voice came on. A feeling of a boding was stirring in me, but I didn't know why.

This was after was the way people were supposed to acted when angry, they were supposed be disappointed. I expected him yell, all of this was going rather well in my opinion. Though I didn't even half to listen if I choose. I could just delete this message right here and now, I didn't even have to go into work ever again either. I could just stay here, disappear from them all. I know that they would all be grateful. But I don't turn it off, instead I keep listening as Hiro talks.

He doesn't yell, instead he's quiet. I can tell he is hesitant as he pauses. I can hear the background noise of K chasing Sakano around with the magnum. Hiro doesn't speak at first, the seconds tick by and then he finally does. His voice is low and I can barely make out the emotions in it. He says that I let him down, and I should show up to work tomorrow. That's it, already the lecture I was expecting from him considering the ones he has delivered to me in the past. Though I hardly notice the change in his demeanor as the phone clicks off. It isn't the time he's said something like that to me and I know it won't be the last.

909-0-0-0-

Okay first I'm so, so, so sorry it took me so long to update and also THIS is not the finale chapter. Sorry I know I said it would be but I had some computer problems and couldn't type. So NEXT chapter will be it, I promise and I will try to get it published with as soon as I can. Got a really good ending and a great idea for my sequel. So gomen everybody so about making this story so long but you guys seem to like it.


	4. Chapter 4

Lover's Fool

Chapter 4. Breaking the Habit; Clutching my Cure

Disclaimer: Gravitation does not; I repeat does not belong to me. So back off you jackals.

Warnings: Death fic, and Shuichi Angst. Slight lime/citrus and a couple of bad words.

Hey! I'm so happy, I just posted chapter 3 and already I got reviews. I can tell that that you all really love this story and I have requests for the sequel. Sorry everyone but this is not the final chapter. I would like to thank everyone that reviewed though!

_My star is mine, I follow it,_

_For it cannot lead me wrong._

_Though tonight, it is a different star I follow._

_A star black and obscure to all,_

_A star that's shine is not mine._

_A devil knight it belongs to,_

_Darkened shadows that will forever fall._

_Cast me into oblivion, _

_I shall not wake from my sleep._

_Turn your back to me,_

_I shall not speak._

_Lead me astray with your sinful touch,_

_Though I shall not sway._

_These are the words I sing._

_Throw me to the fire,_

_And I'll let myself burn._

_You curse my name, with your devils tongue_

_Snake bite claim me,_

_Tearing open my flesh, tasting my skin, sucking my essence clear._

_You're my source of self destruction,_

_Twisting my mind and smashing my dreams._

_Pull me by my simple stings, reaper of innocence, you betray,_

_Master of puppets you're under my skin._

"Glrrrrr," I growl in frustration and tear up the piece of paper that loomed in front of me. All around, balls and sheets of torn paper laid a strewed. Scattered throughout my space of confinement like discarded toys. My stupid scribbles, or so I called them, were taking up than a few sheets of papers. Trying to work in any state or form right now was pointless and my so called "progress" was that of nothing. I would probably have better luck copying them out of a book then trying to come up with anything out of my own head. But that too, would just use more paper.

I had decided that after checking my phone's messages, to kill some time by trying to come with what I called a song. Therefore when I did decide to grace NG Studios terrain again, I would at least have an excuse as to where the hell I had been last three days. That or whenever I did decide to face the music and go to work. It was a good plan, sorta. By now however, it was an idea that I was fast regretting. Just like most things in my frivolous excuse for a life, this act was entirely idiotic. When I did come to the decision to drag myself out of my fortress of solitude to appear, I would simply tell my fellow employees that I had hit a hot spot and was occupied with working on a new song for the up coming concert next week. That way, I didn't have K yelling at me all day and I might be able to leave with all of my limbs intact. A pray that would most likely fall on death ears. But still sometimes it could be classic fun to get a rise out of American manic.

Like they would actually buy that stupid story, but still it was worth a try and I really didn't have anything better to do. Unless you counted rummaging through stacks of porno from 1975 and getting wasted, but those hardly counted as activities any more. And they probably just send me back to the way I was prier three days ago. Of coarse the fault to my plan meant I actually had to write a song. So far, the only thing I had succeeded in doing was making more trash to fill my house and creating myself another headache. Worse of all, I had run out of aspirin.

The very fact that I had reduced myself to lying; just to get out of a pointless and overall pathetic lecture didn't help the way I was feeling. Though I had reduced myself to a lot of things lately. So this very act shouldn't surprise me in the least, let alone hold any sense of foreboding thoughts. But somehow, I couldn't shake the feelings that surrounded me. It was exactly the same experience I felt when I first woke up three day ago. The consuming emotion that I was unfit, not right, deformed. That something was eating at my skin and that every little act I did was fueling its flame. Making me want to scratch it off in the end.

I cross off the words I was writing and violently ball the paper up. Throwing it to the wall just like I had did with the liquor bottle. Only this time it didn't break and I was sober, that and a hell of a lot weaker and incapacitated.

This is stupid; I shouldn't be thinking such ideas. This mental conversation of mine was only going to end in a dead one. I didn't like thinking about these things. I didn't like where they were leading me. That corner of my mind was someone place in which I had no intentions to explore its blurred domain. In it was a place I had closed off from anything and everything that possessed life. In its chambers contained the very feelings that I had once longed to share with my beloved, my Yuki. Love, hate, anger, sadness, desire, all of it. All that I had swelling up inside, was kept locked away in there. My very own Pandora's Box, and I had desire to open it.

My pencil lead just broke, its lead leaving shaving on my paper. I stared at for a second before, " It's so… cliché." I breathe but it was true, don't you think? But maybe I'm not good at spotting these things. If I wanted to right know I could sit here and talk about how I was just like that pencil. Or how I was just like the paper that I tore or even better, how empty and confused I was. That I was so lost, I couldn't even write even a decent song. But I don't want to, words and pitiful cries of depression get old when I stumble upon my delicate sense of topic. Or at least that's my opinion.

Besides, I wasn't well enough to test my abilities by thinking or pushing myself to hard. If I was ever going to go anywhere ever again, I needed to rest. But…I do remember…him calling my lyrics trash all the time. That thought now seems to apply even though I never figured my self agreeing with him. I bet he would laugh if he got a good look at me now. I bet he laugh, if he could see me. I think and I can't stop. As I drop the pencil and being weak to nature, or maybe just true to it, give in and think about a distant memory. I tilt my head back, as the images began their play. "Giving in, was always one of my vices after all."

The rest of the week, or more like two days, I spent working. Hn, that thought makes me laugh. For you see, try as might I couldn't produce a song. It was as if a fog had somehow settled over my brain, preventing any thoughts from escaping or breaking its dense surface. A citadel that was so powerful, that when I felt I was almost completely recovered, I tried to break my block by using my new favorite technique. Grapping a bottle of Jack Daniels, I gulped down a few shots in a hurried haste. Savoring the sensation of it after my brief absence.

I did this for awhile, sitting there trying to write. I had come up with most of my more melodramatic and morbid stuff why either on something or wasted. But to my frustration, I had nothing. The only thing I could do was piece together bits of what I had. Trying to unify them into a working song. Hoping that the others would think it adequate enough. The best thing that I could do right now was enjoy my intoxication and the rest of this fellow called Jack.

I groaned, my head throbbing slightly as I managed to pry my eyes open. I was sprawled out on the couch, a half empty bottle clutched loosely in my hand. Looks like I didn't get too far I thought, as I pried myself off the couch remembering what today was and slandered down the hallway in an uncoordinated grace. The light stung and the color swirled, as did everything else as I stumbled into bathroom. Clumsily staggering into the shower. The water taking forever to turn on and when I turned my head to glance up, to see if it was even on. Onto my head it came crashing down like a frozen waterfall. Right then I got my reminder that I still had my clothes on, and that the Daniels was in my hand.

I stood there for awhile, letting the water run down me. I grabbed onto the bar just in case I fell, I still wasn't trusting of my legs or sight. The water felt good though, as if it was rejuvenating me. Putting something back in me, while washing something away. But I told myself to shut up. The water was just getting rid of all the dirt and the smell of alcohol. No more, no less. Besides my head hurt enough as it did, it was too damn early to start getting philosophical.

My clothes were soaked by now, and my hair stuck to my head. Water cascading down it in tendrils. I knew I should shampoo it, but I didn't feel like. This is fine enough, besides I was getting cold. I hadn't had hot water since I moved in. I doubt that this place ever did. I turned off the water, my lashes dripping beads of condensation as I reach for a towel to dry my pink head. My hair has lost it shimmer and shine, it had gone limp from bad treatment and I believe that my roots are beginning to sprout their heads again. I don't know if I'll die it again though. Hiro always said that the die would make me stupid one day. Maybe it has.

I strip of my wet binding, their damp weight dragging me down. My skin hits the cold air and I immediately shiver even more than I already am. Goosebumps cover my body like a second skin. My small, near minuscule hair contracting to keep in warmth. It's pointless and they should just give up. It's kind of funny how I can change my moods so swiftly. I wonder if that makes unstable.

I glance in the broken mirror and glaze at my freezing naked body. (god I would love to see that) I was a phantom of what I used to be. I was always a little bit under weight, but now I had stopped eating and drop even more. My ribs stuck out for any to run their fingers over. My skin was pale and white, just as that paper I had torn. My bandage had gotten wet, so I unwrapped my arm. That there being the only thing I liked as I continued starring. I was transfixed, like watching a horror movie. You know you want to stop but yet, you can't seem to look away.

But I had things to do today. I'll watch this story another time, besides I have seen it before and it always ends the same.

I braced myself as I walked out of my house. The breeze ruffling my fastly, drying wet hair. My eyes shielded from the sun's blinding rays by a pair of pink tinted glasses. I'm dressed in faded back slacks, a long sleeve shirt and black pull over vest. My left arm was so tightly wrapped that the bandage nearly cut into the skin and it was easily covered with clothes.

I look around, visions of people jesting and throwing tomatoes at me as I walk past enter my mind, but I quickly dismiss them. I already begin to feel an ache in my muscles as I have barely gone a block. The sky was a clear but flecked with distorted gray, betraying it's an illusion of a sunny day. The familiar sites surrounding me and the fresh air filling my lungs brings a heighten sense of anxiety as well as pristine calmness.

After the shower I had thrown on my clothes, then after mixing a concoction of very own to cure my slight hangover. I grabbed my lyrics and headed out the door. I barely recognized where I was going, as I treaded down my path. My mind drifting on the breeze as I let my feet take their own route. The air was clean, and I let myself bask in this small pleasure of surreal ness All too soon however, I found myself facing smooth transparent Plexiglas windows and tall hard concrete of the NG Studio's building.

I let out a sigh and marched in into the building, the doors closing behind me cutting off my escape. Not bothering to pay attention to the looks I received from the secretaries and the guards. Apparently sleeping with them and not calling leaves you with a bad reputation, even more when you talk about it at work. I knew my way around so I quickly walked over to elevator and pressed the button. Growing more annoyed that I had to wait as the minutes ticked by and the shaft finally appeared. Inside I was pushed and crowed to one side, my air being cut in half and my feelings of dizziness that seemed to plague me since I left the house increase. Sweat started to drip down my face and I laggardly wiped it away. Finally the doors opened and I put up a mask of indifference as I glided through the hallway that I knew that Bad Luck rehearsed and used. I stopped and stood there staring at the mahogany surface, the smooth texture. I knew what was beyond that door; it was after all eleven o' clock in the morning. Still, I grasped the handled and pushed. It was time to face the firing squad.

I gripped my fist tighter as K backed me into a wall. The taste of grease and gun powder filling my mouth, as he jams the rim of the magnum into it. Sweat was really running down my face now, flowing to my neck. Causing my collar to stick to my skin and become intolerably itchy. Forcing me to squirm even more. My knees quaked and K corning me was blocking off my air supply. His glaze was so intense that I felt that I was sure to pass out from its heat. He grabs my shoulder, making me wince at the presser and pain as I still haven't recovered from my little escapade of release. My vision blurred slightly, or maybe it was just the fact I still had the sunglasses on.

This wasn't the first time that I found myself at the end of his gun or manic tendencies for weapons that were used solely for bodily harm, but never before had he been this angry.

"Shuichi" He growled towering over my figure, his eyes red dots. Suddenly I tensed waiting for the attack that I knew that would commence. I accepted him to pull the trigger and a shiver ran down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut but then I froze… I stopped and I looked at him as he growled and yelled something. I suddenly slumped my shoulders and let everything go. My mouth relaxing against the rim of the Swiss and Wesson as I continue my staring match with him.

Anybody that was in this situation would have been scared shitless, though to me these antics seemed exasperated. My feelings of nervousness of the unknown, that swept over me the moment I left the safety of my house, had quickly left me. Instead it was replaced by a sensation that was old but one that I was fast becoming acquainted to. the same one I always experienced whenever I spied the look on the people I cared about faces, or something that I once done that now seemed so far away. Of taking me over and leaving me drifting, this whole scenario was worthless and suddenly if K chose to shoot me, I don't think I would care.

K was growling harder, his shouting more intense and colorful. I knew that I should about what he was saying but somehow I couldn't bring myself to care. I also knew he was trying with everything he had, not to pull that trigger. But he shouldn't be in this position, it was him that decided after all to grab me and thrust me against the wall the moment I entered.

"Do you have any idea how much work we have lost because of your "ABSENCE!" I manage to catch at least this much as he shouts at me. Choosing to use the English vocabulary for the word absence.

"Nope." I reply blankly, starring at him with a dead expression lacing my face. My response muffled, as my teeth scraped against its smooth shaft.

"Why! You-," he yells and puts more presser on trigger. "K!" Sakano suddenly cries and jumps on him trying to subdue the honey blonde. Sakano the poor fool, has tears streaming down his face and was spinning around the room in a tornado. It was only a matter of time before the four eyed producer had a heart attack from all the stress that existed in his life.

"K-san please calm down, it won't do any good if you kill him." He cried pulling K off me but K still held the gun and pointed at me.

"I don't care, it will make me feel happy and that is good," K shouts pushing Sakano away and aiming at me again.

"Nooooooooooooo!" Sakano cries and jumps on K's back, wrapping his legs and arms around him. Causing K to fall backwards slightly and thrash against the other body that was restraining him.

"I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!" K screams and tries to man mover the magnum out from the producer's grasps as they danced around the room shouting at each other and all the while trying to keep their balance. The psychotic manager this time was now trying to throw Sakano off his back and kill him. He had a new target to take care of before he started on the real prize.

Fujisaki sweat drops and lets out a deeply annoyed sigh. Dropping his head at the site of his bosses' theatrics. "Maybe I should quit Bad Luck. This is all going on my therapy."

I continue to stay flat against the wall, turning my head slightly to the side so that my cheek glazes its surface. My lashes near half crescent moons as I tip my head down. I was drowning it all, the yelling and the faces. Just like I had so many times before, but something was different now and I couldn't place it. I now found my throat was considerably dry and the sudden insatiable itch in my left arm had returned. Forcing me to raise my hand ever slowly to my cloaked bandaged appendage to grasp it.

"That's enough!" Hiro yelled, slamming his fist down upon the table causing its legs to wobble from the impact. His outburst had silenced K and Sakano's prancing, Fujisaki's threats of relocation and forced me out my slumber of thoughts.

"All of this yelling and screaming is going nowhere;" he said standing up and defiantly glaring at K, who dropped his arms straight causing Sakano to fall flat on his back." If you're going to do anything, ask him where he's been for the last week, not put a bullet in him the moment he walks through the door." He shifted his glaze to me, a look plastered upon his features as I turn to face him The room continues its air of strained quietness as Hiro sits back down. His long auburn bangs obscuring his downcast face.

Hiro… for one second he looked the way he had always did. Just like—

"SHUICHI!" K screamed blaring in my ear, making my head throb. "Are you listening?" "No" "Urgggggg! Okay K, you can do this. Must resist dark side. Do not go over to the dark side, must ignore voices in head. Lalalala, kick him the dish pan, lalala da do da." K said dropping his head in frustration and grabbing it. Then just as quickly he shoots it back up, "OKAY! So where have you actually been the last three days." He asked with a creepy, sickly sweet smile that could clearly rival Tohma's. He was oblivious trying very hard to regain his normal composure, whatever that was. I suddenly decided to have some fun with this.

"Busy. Whips, chains, Russian prostitutes, you tell me what activity that falls under," I answer with a smirk.

K's eye twitches slightly, "I wouldn't have a clue. But would that truly take you a week or was it that you were so drunk that you couldn't drag yourself here."

"Maybe, I really can't remember that well, seeing as how after I was done, it was your wife that I was doing afterwards. "

THAT'S IT! YOUR GONNA DIE CLOWN! K screamed in fury and launched himself at me.

I smirked and rubbed my throat, glaring happily at K from my chair, who sat all the way across the room in the corner looking murderous and unhappy. As if he was a two year old that just had his lollipop stolen. Hn, well that did serve to bring some entertain, maybe coming in wasn't so bad after I thought.

After I had made my little "comment" I barely had time to move before K grabbed me and proceeded to squeeze the life out of me. The others seeing this quickly jumped up and had to pry the homicidal blonde off me before I collapsed. After that he made several attempts of "recapturing" me. Sakano and Fujisaki teamed up and somehow managed to take all of the guns away from. It turned the American had more on him than anyone could have guessed and this certainly wasn't legal. After that little game, I leaned against the wall gasping for breath as my vision and head swam and my knees started to buckle. By the floor where the sheets of paper containing my lyrics that I had brought. I picked them and decided to cut to the chase in case I chose to make my escape from reality by passing out. Besides Sakano wasn't that fun to mess with. He freaked out way to easily.

Let's just say they didn't take it well. They glazed over them, slightly turning their nose up before a deeming them acceptable and worth my stander. I did receive a harsh lecture and scolding for my absence and performance today, but then they left me alone. Any way if wouldn't have matter, I didn't pay attention to what they were saying. Instead I sat their making faces at K while their backs were turned.

I rubbed my throat as I felt someone staring at my back and I turned around in my chair. Hiro stood there, elegantly strait. Looking out the window, his arms crossed at his chest. "You know," he started, his voice low as he continued to face the glass instead of me. "You didn't have to do that. All you had to do was tell us the truth and none of this mayhem would have happen. Even though I highly doubt that was what you were actually doing."

"Yes, but come now Hiroshi. A little bit of entertainment now in then liven ups things up. And seeing him that angry gives me a thrill. You should try it, the pleasure you get from letting everything go and not giving a damn about anyone or every little thing is a truly remarkable experience." I answered smiling coyly.

Hiro turned his head to me, his face blank but traces of sadness lingered on it. "Do you really believe that," he asked," you've changed Shuichi." He said turning his face back to the window. Away from me.

"And is that such a terrible thing, as I remember you helped bring about this little change in me. So you have no right to pass judgment. Besides, why should you even bother. Last time I checked, caring about me wasn't on your list of porphyries. Though I'd prefer it that way. In fact, I rather like the way I am now. It's a hell of lot better than that crybaby Shuichi you used to know, this one actually has a backbone."

Hiro closed his eyes at my rant and slowly opened them, "You know… there once was a time when I thought I was in love with you, how foolish of a person could I be to fall in love with someone that can't feel anything but bitterness. You're spiteful and conceded Shuichi. You sit there and pretend as if nothing hurts you and that you've gotten over the pain but you know very well that you aren't. You're weak, a liar, and that fact cuts you deep. I know it does other wise you wouldn't act the way you do. You bottle up all the hurt but pretty soon if you don't let out it's going to consume you. You can shout and scream that I and others did this to you but you know you brought all of this upon yourself. I just hope in the end you can find your happiness." With that Hiro turned and walked away leaving me sitting there staring daggers at him for what he said. Anger and rage boiled slowly up from within as I clutched my fist causing my overgrown nails to piece my tender and abused flesh. He had no right, his words causing me to loath the ground he walked on, as hate took me over. I was enraged, because I knew it was all true.


End file.
